It all started with a completely unexpected text message at 11pm on a Tuesday.

Unknown Number: im sorry to bug you, but...girl from my building just went in the squad, ur in her ICE on the phone?

Sandor Clegane: This girl have a name?

Unknown Number: idk it, she moved in few wks ago...fb says Sansa Beag-Eòin

Unknown Number: ?

Sandor Clegane: I knew a Sansa, but it's been a long minute. Do you have a picture of some kind?

Unknown Number: yeah, brb

(Multimedia Message Received)

Unknown Number: u get it?

Sandor Clegane: Aye, that's her. Did you try her kin?

Unknown Number: just u in the emergency #s

Sandor Clegane: Where's this hospital?

Unknown Number: George E. Weems Memorial Hospital

Sandor Clegane: *Caochan, what state is that?

Unknown Number: fl

Sandor Clegane: Well, fuck.

An uncomfortable, overpriced flight and 10 hours later saw Sandor standing outside the hospital room that supposedly held the Little Bird. He didn't really know yet, because he was too much of a coward to open the door and make sure. He wasn't sure what would be worse, finding out that she was behind that door or finding out that she wasn't.

It had been 3 years since Sandor had even heard her name spoken aloud. But she wasn't Sansa Beag-Eòin, she was Sansa Stark, and she looked a bit different than the picture this girl's neighbor had sent. For one thing, her hair was dyed strawberry blond in the picture. In truth, it was probably dyed regular blond and her natural fire was just too strong to completely vanish. Her face was fuller than it had been 3 years ago, but her eyes remained the same striking blue as before. At the very beginning of her relationship with 'Joff', her smile had been open and wide. She was optimistic and naive, shallow and easily manipulated. By the end, she was cold as ice and twice as hazardous. She had thinned out during her 2 years as the personal chew toy of the little blond sadist, making her face more angular. There were almost no more smiles and her eyes were so sharp they could cut through to the soul of a man. The only time it slipped was with Sandor in the desperate aftermath of Joffrey's tyranny, and then she'd become a beautiful and broken thing to behold.

Senator Robert Baratheon had hired Sandor as a bodyguard for his wife Cersei during his second election. The bitch was all pretty face and ugly words, and she had finally told her husband that Sandor, with his half face and dirty mouth, was a terrible choice in bodyguard for her. She was right, too, because Sandor couldn't fucking stand her. Then he was transferred to Joffrey, Cersei's brother Jaime took his old post, and within months Sansa and Joffrey were an item.

At first, the girl was scared of Sandor. She wouldn't look him in the eye or speak directly to him, and he preferred it that way. She was stunningly beautiful, but she was so young and so shallow, he was more than happy to watch her jiggle walking around in her bikini by the pool and never actually speak to her. But the honeymoon period ended around the 6-month mark and it really only got worse from there. Sandor was Joffrey's main guard, but there was also Trant in the evenings and as Joffrey got more vicious, Trant got more excited. All of a sudden, it was more than the humiliation and verbal abuse and Sandor could only protect her so much.

Slowly, so very slowly, Sansa started to smile at him. Small, sad smiles, but he was the only one who got them. She lost the shallowness, grew up way too fast, and she talked to him every chance she got. She still never stood too close to him, always tentative to invade his space, but she was with him as often as she could manage. She told him lots of things, weird and random things, and he listened and rarely told her anything at all. He did talk to her when he attempted to convince her she needed to go, that it would only get worse. But Sansa just smiled sadly and stayed...so he did too. Gods, but he wanted to leave the fucking Baratheons and never go back. But if he did, he would be abandoning her to Joff and Trant and without him to temper them, he was sure they'd hurt her in a way she couldn't heal from. The day he scooped her off the ground, bloodied and beaten into a stupor for finally smacking Joffrey back, he wrapped her shivering body in the old quilt his grandmother had made him before she died and started planning. He had to get her out of there, and he had to get out too. He knew he couldn't watch it anymore, not even if she begged him to.

The day he put her on a plane back to Winterfell Estate was the last day he'd seen or talked to her. He never told her how he felt about her, never asked anything of her, but he wanted so much. She didn't belong in his world, and she needed to get away from him as much as Joffrey, even if she didn't know it. She had mixed feelings, he knew. She was warmed that he wanted her safe, fiercely angry with him having contacted her Dad and brother, and something else that he couldn't quite identify.

The last thing she said to him, before getting on the plane, were words he had heard over and over in the years following. They echoed in his dreams and in the silence of his life.

"I hate you for this, I didn't want them to know, and you knew that." But then she had reached up, pulling his big head down towards her and kissed his scarred cheek. "But I know why you did it, and maybe I won't hate you forever. You probably saved my life. One day, maybe I'll even thank you for it."

Then she was gone, boarding pass in hand, and all he had managed to do was stand there and watch. When her plane left the runaway, he heard himself whisper, "Be safe, Little Bird." He was ashamed to find his cheeks wet.

The white walls of the hallway stood around him as he scrubbed his face with his hand and sighed loudly, before steeling his resolve and gently pushing open the door. There sat Sansa Stark, eyes fixed on a morning talk show, spoon midway to her mouth with a dollop of cherry jello. She froze when she saw him, both staring at the other for a long moment. Before he had time to recover himself, the jello fell to the floor forgotten and she was out of the bed. A loud exhale forced its way from his chest as she barrelled into him and clung. On instinct, he caught her and took a few steps forward to keep her IV from being wrenched from her arm.

He was frozen, unsure, and confused as hell. Despite having her in his arms often when she was too weak to move, she had only purposefully hugged him on 3 different occasions (not that he was counting, because that would be weird...) She had kissed his cheek the one time at the airport, and that was all. Sandor realized his shirt was getting wet and leaned back far enough to see the top of her head. Her face was buried in his chest and she was shaking, very quiet sobs muffled into his skin. Sandor's eyes went wide and he made vague shushing sounds and fought not to toss her down and demand she tell him what the hell was going on. She clung to him like a fucking spider monkey, so tight that it almost hurt.

After a few more seconds he became aware that her hospital gown, while tied in the back, had hiked up the legs she currently had wrapped around his stomach and his hands were pressed against the bare underside of her thighs. Sandor could just feel the edge of her cotton underwear along his thumbs. He was also aware that she was not wearing a bra, as her soft, ample breasts were pressed directly up against his sternum. Knowing this would get real awkward real quick if she didn't move soon, he cleared his throat and grumbled something out, moving to set her on the bed and take a step back. The last thing he needed was to press a hard-on against a girl in the hospital who he hadn't seen in years. Sansa flushed lightly and looked away a little embarrassed. She busied herself with turning off the television and pulling the sheets up to rearrange them around her before turning to Sandor with a small shy smile.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

Sandor didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he settled for "Okay..." and then fell silent. He knew they'd have to talk about why he was listed as her emergency contact, why her family wasn't, and about Beag-Eòin. But not yet, not right away.

Sansa motioned for him to take a seat in the chair near the bed, so Sandor stepped around and sat, trying to settle comfortably in the slightly too small contraption. Once he was about as good as he was going to get, he finally looked at her, really looked at her, and he saw some signs of why she may be in the hospital, to begin with.

The right side of her face was slightly swollen, her lip split and a sizable but shallow cut along her cheekbone with jagged edges. She had dark circles under her eyes like she had not rest for some time. Her hair had been pulled into a sloppy top knot on her head, long blonde hair specked with blood. Nothing looked serious.

"What are they keeping you for?" he rasped out, voice even rougher than usual from exhaustion.

"Oh," she sighed lightly. "Um, there was a concussion. Just a mild one, but I guess I lost consciousness for a minute or two, so they wanted to be safe. Back of my head's tore up too, but wasn't deep enough for stitches."

She shrugged. "I told them there was no sexual assault this time, but I don't think they believed me because of these," she continued, holding up her wrists. He could now see how both wrists held matching fingerprint marks where someone grabbed her hard enough to bruise. Sandor felt something clawing in his chest and had to close his eyes for a moment to hear the voice of Ray, his therapist, telling him to breathe through the rage and not give in to the intoxication of righteous anger.

After he was calm, he managed to open his eyes again. "What do you mean 'this time'? Has this *Blaigeard attacked you before?"

Sansa wouldn't meet his eyes, staring at her lap, but she nodded.

"And he's...hurt you before, Aye?"

She nodded again and he clenched his fists.

"Fuck, tell me this bloke isn't your new boyfriend."

Sansa laughed sadly and glanced up at him. "Not anymore, hasn't been for some time. He can't seem to understand that though, and he doesn't like being told no. Ramsay keeps finding me. Now, I get to move all over again."

"How many times has the manky bastard done this by now?!" he growled, feeling all that good sense from therapy being drowned out by the bloodlust pumping through his veins.

This time she laughed for real. "Manky bastard? Gods, I've missed the sexy, growly Scottish cursing."

Sandor was shocked out his anger by the word 'sexy,' but now was not the time to address that so he just stared at her.

Sansa sighed. "This was my third move, now I'll have to gear up for move number four."

Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. "Alright, so, now he knows where you were living? Did the police pick him up yet?"

Sansa shook her head and laughed bitterly. "No, and they won't either."

"What do you...why the fuck not?" Sandor growled out with menace.

"He's Ramsay BOLTON. Son of Roose BOLTON, which he neglected to share until after we'd been together too long for me to extricate myself from his business dealings."

"Bolton, like the drug lord Bolton?" Sandor asked incredulously.

"The very same," she deadpanned. "Stark is a powerful name when it comes to the courts, but Bolton has more money and dirty cops than the gods. It never even gets to the courts when it comes to Ramsay."

She flushed and looked down at her lap. "He told me he was called Ramsay Snow. You'd think after Joff I'd be able to spot a lie, right? But Ramsay, he makes Joff look like a puppy."

For fuck's sake, she was like the blood in the water to all the sharks in the world. He wondered if she'd ever be safe. He wished he could keep her safe somehow, but he knew part of that was selfish. Part of him just wanted to have her for his own.

"Why me?" he asked.

Sansa cleared her throat and looked away. "Sandor, I'm really sorry that you had to come all the way out here. If I had been conscious, I..."

"Why aren't your kin in your phone?" he asked. Sansa said nothing, pointedly not looking at him.

"They even know you're here?"

Still nothing. Now Sandor was starting to get majorly annoyed.

"That's fine. I'll just step outside and give Judge Stark a call. It'll be like old times, aye?" He stood up quickly and moved towards the door.

"Wait! Sandor, I...Oh fine, just sit back down." Sansa crossed her arms and huffed. He had to stifle a chuckle, and for the first time in awhile, he saw just a hint of that girl she used to be, so many years ago. Sandor sat back down and leaned forward on his knees.

"Well?"

Sansa bit her lip and he could see her thinking, trying to decide exactly what to say. When she finally spoke, it was very quietly, and he had to lean forward to hear it.

"When I told Ramsay I no longer wished to be with him, he was very clear that was not an option. He's not a loving man, not even prideful like Joffrey, but he is a possessive one. When I walked away from him anyway, he started to show up everywhere. Where I went for coffee in the mornings, he was there. Where I went to the grocery, there. The bank, there. The dog park, there. But finally, when all that wasn't getting my attention, he started showing up outside Brann's school or at Arya's volleyball games. One day, Rickon disappeared for a few hours after school. When he finally came home, he was unharmed but he told us that Ramsay had taken him for ice cream and to an arcade. Rickon handed me a letter, and it basically told me that while he preferred my company above all, my little brother made for a 'lovely companion' as a second choice."

Sansa shivered and Sandor felt his stomach turn. "Dad was irate, he took Rickon to the police station, drug me along too. I told him that they were on Bolton's payroll, but he wouldn't listen. Of course, no charges were brought and we were informed the matter was closed."

She finally turned to look at him, her eyes betraying her pain. "Please Sandor, I couldn't go back to him, but I couldn't let him hurt my family. So I emptied the rest of my college savings, which was still substantial with the money my grandfather had set aside for each of the grandchildren, and I disappeared."

Sandor swallowed heavily. "And they aren't listed in your phone because..."

She nodded sadly, "Because I no longer speak to them. They know I'm safe, or at least I was when I first left, but they have no idea where I am now."

Before he could ask his next question, the doctor came in with a wide smile.

"Ms. Beag-Eòin," he said, skimming over her chart. "Let's see the back of your head now, need to check on that bump and hopefully get you home, right?"

Sansa smiled weakly at the doctor, not meeting his nor Sandor's eye. "Home would be nice."

An hour and lots of discharge instructions later, Sandor hefted the hospital bag on his shoulder as the little bird slid into the passenger seat of his rental. She was wearing his shirt, since hers had been soaked in blood (head wounds always did bleed like a bitch) and he was trying really fucking hard not to think about other situations where she could be wearing his over-sized clothing. After shoving the bag into the hatch of the SUV, he settled into his own seat and stared out the windshield.

"Where are you going to now?"

Sansa closed her eyes for a minute, and he thought she might cry, but she took a deep steadying breath and opened them again. "I need to go to my apartment, pick up a few things I can't leave behind. Then...well, you can just drop me at the Greyhound station and I won't be your problem anymore." Sandor grunted irritably.

"I asked where you're going, not where you needed a ride to," he grumbled. She turned and fixed him with a glare.

"I don't know yet, I have to see where the buses are headed," she snapped, irritably.

He growled and dug the heel of his palm into his eye until he saw stars. No sleep, a shitty plane ride, and he had taken all the shit from her he was prepared to take at the moment. He wheeled on her, glaring right back.

"*Am pure done in, little girl," he snarled. As his temper rose, his accent became more pronounced and he slipped into using gaelic slang, but he was too pissed off to care. "And I've had about enough of your lip. I got a text message in the middle of the fucking night from your neighbor who can't spell worth a shit. They tell me you're going by Sansa fucking Beag-Eòin now, and what the bloody hell am I supposed to think of that? I'm the only emergency contact you got, you're on the run from your asshole ex-boyfriend, and your fake last name is 'little bird' in Old Scottish. Which you only know, because I told you what it was in my mother tongue. I get on a plane, pay out the arse for the last minute ticket, and come to you in the fucking hospital, even though I haven't heard from you IN YEARS. *So yer aff yer heid if you think I'm gonna just accept no explanation and play chauffeur for an hour or two before heading home and not hearing from you until you're in the bloody hospital again."

Sandor grit his teeth and rubbed his temples hard, eyes closed while he tried to take steadying breaths. He startled when he felt her hand move lightly on top of his thigh and gently squeeze.

"Sandor, I can't tell you where I'm going because I don't have anywhere to go," she told him with a determined look. "No place is better than another one, no one is waiting for me. You are listed in my phone for emergencies because you told me I could always call you and I don't have anyone else. And the last name I use is Beag-Eòin because I was running and scared when it came time to buy a new identity and I picked the name that would make me feel safest. I don't know why, it just felt right. Now I'll need a new one."

Sandor paused, but he'd already come all the way here, what was there to lose? He couldn't send her back to daddy this time. He couldn't just let Sansa go off on her own with no protection, not with a man who wanted to destroy her snapping at her heels.

"I could keep you safe," Sandor told her. "No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them."

Sansa smiled so softly and closed her eyes. "Yes," she said quietly without even a moment's hesitation. She leaned across the console and used the barest pressure of one finger to turn his head towards her. "I'd like that very much."

So gently, she pressed soft lips to his. It was brief, over in a second, but it was somehow the most fucking beautiful thing Sandor had ever felt in his life. He stared at her for a few moments, before lightly shaking his head and turning back to the wheel. He put the car in gear and let her direct him to her apartment.

AN:

Scottish Translation

Caochan - Shit

Blaigeard - Bastard

Am pure done in - Sick and Tired of this

So yer aff yer heid - Off your head, crazy